


You May Be a Sinner (But Your Innocence is Mine)

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Etchings [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Road Trips, The Quiet Isle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: “Come now,” he drawls. “Did I follow a liar as well as an innocent into the wilderness on this mad quest?”“No longer an innocent,” she says, before she can stop herself.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Etchings [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140638
Comments: 36
Kudos: 246
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange Stocking Stuffers 2020





	You May Be a Sinner (But Your Innocence is Mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chrkrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrkrose/gifts).



> (Alternate title: Five times Jaime and Brienne fucked, and one time they made love)
> 
> Dear chrkrose, I hope that this falls within the range of your prompts. Please enjoy!
> 
> This story brings back Jaime's pale leather coat with the crimson lining from the first season, because of reasons. Also, I have no idea if Jay is a common Westerosi name or not; I'm going to say it's more common than Jaime. 
> 
> Title is from "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse.

It’s an earthy, physical thing, what happens between a man and a woman. 

She hadn’t expected that. 

It’s humid and sweat-slick and unbearably close. It’s the weight of Jaime’s body on hers, his mouth tugging at her breast, his fingers inside her, touching her in some strange secret place. It’s lying beneath him, vulnerable, her legs splayed wide and trusting him not to hurt her. It’s kissing, warm and wet, and gasping into each other’s mouths, and the panting, grunting, straining rush towards release. 

Her muscles are stretched and sore, and every now and then she has vivid sensory flashbacks to the taste of wine on Jaime’s tongue, the smell of sweat and musk, and the sound of muffled, gasping cries. 

Beneath his pale leather coat, his muscles had bunched and gathered under her spread palms. She lets her reins fall slack, her fingers curling with phantom memory. 

**

1.

“Well, you have brought me back, as promised,” he had said, after summoning her to White Sword Tower. “With three out of four limbs intact – but what’s a hand, in the grand scheme of things?” 

If she hadn’t seen him almost will himself to death after his maiming, she might have been deceived by his show of nonchalance. 

“We Lannisters always pay our debts,” he’d continued, smiling blithely. “What do you ask in return?” 

“There is no debt between us,” she’d said. “I do not look for reward.” 

“No?” he’d asked. “Only renown.” 

He’d stood before her in his pale leather coat, his snow-white cloak thrown casually over a chair, his hair curling golden – and all she could remember was the heat of his feverish body slumped against her on the horse; the weight of him limp in her arms in the baths at Harrenhal.

She’d swallowed, her blood beating thickly in her veins. 

“Not renown,” she’d managed to say, her hands shaking a little. “Or – not wholly that. Respect, maybe. Recognition.”

“I see you, Lady Brienne,” he’d said, with devastating sincerity. “If no one else in all the Seven Kingdoms sees you for what you are, know that I do.”

He’d kissed her, then. Or perhaps she’d kissed him. They’d crashed together, mouths devouring, and stumbled down onto the nearest flat surface. Her outflung hands had brushed a heavy book, and she’d pushed him away long enough to gently nudge it into a safe position, and then they had – 

They had fucked on the weirwood table in the heart of White Sword Tower. The book she had moved to safety was the fabled Book of Brothers, containing the written history of every knight of the Kingsguard going back 300 years. 

** 

2.

“Daydreaming?” he asks, his voice startling her. 

She flinches, her eyes flying to his, her cheeks flushed tell-tale blotchy red. 

“No,” she lies. 

His slow, curling smile says that he knows exactly what she was thinking. 

“Come now,” he drawls. “Did I follow a liar as well as an innocent into the wilderness on this mad quest?” 

“No longer an innocent,” she says, before she can stop herself. 

His eyes gleam. “No,” he says,” with great satisfaction. “Not physically, at least, though your eyes are still pure as the Maiden’s, even when you –”

“Jaime,” she gasps, her thighs tightening – causing her chestnut mare to dance and snort in protest. 

Their eyes lock. 

** 

They find a small thicket of trees on the side of the Kingsroad. 

Brienne insists they hobble the horses first. Then they fuck in the dappled shade of the trees, fully armoured and still clothed, save for Jaime’s breeches pushed down around his hips and hers to her ankles. It’s a rushed, reckless, straining affair, and for days afterwards she has flashbacks to the smell of crushed grass and cool damp earth.

** 

3.

They travel up the Kingsroad together, Brienne in her blue armour and Jaime in plain unadorned plate, his clothing brown and grey and green, stripped of any identifying markings. His curling golden hair and green eyes alone should have given him away as a Lannister, but people see what they want to see, and no one thinks to look for the Kingslayer anywhere but by his sister’s side. 

The innkeeper of the small inn Brienne decides to risk certainly doesn’t recognise him. 

“What shall I call myself?” he muses, as they settle into a corner of the taproom with their meals and a flagon of indifferent wine. “I’ve always wanted to be a hedge knight, travelling the Seven Kingdoms without a care in the world –” 

“Call yourself Jay,” Brienne says. “It’s a common enough name.” 

“Yes, but Jay who? Jay Hill? Jay Rivers?” 

“Jay Storm,” she blurts out, her mind conjuring up a fantasy of what might have been, if a handsome hedge knight named Jay Storm had come to Tarth when she’d been a young girl still dreaming of romance.

“Oho,” he laughs, “what’s put that gleam in your eye?” 

She blushes, but manages to meet his gaze. 

“Eat first,” she says, ever practical. “Gods know when we’ll get another warm meal.”

**

They eat their meat and bread and drink their wine, their gazes locked and lingering. 

And then they go up to their tiny attic room, and there Brienne whispers her fantasy into Jaime’s ear and they play it out, Jaime’s eyes dancing bright green and Brienne laughing with delight. 

**

4.

Things continue on in this manner for long days and even weeks. They make good travelling companions, Brienne ever-cautious but glad to rely on Jaime to watch while she slept, and Jaime enlivening the long, slow hours with idle conversation. Beneath his lazy arrogant manner, he is surprisingly lacking in conceit; he has very few illusions about himself and the world. 

If they are alone, he draws her out, and she finds herself telling him things she had never told anyone else. She tells him of Septa Roelle, and of the truth found in mirrors. She tells him of Ser Goodwin, of the animals he had made her kill. She tells him of the bet. 

In turn, he tells her of Casterly Rock, of Crakehall, of the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood where he had been knighted for valour in the field. He tells her of Ser Arthur Dayne, and of his earliest days in the Kingsguard, and of the long, terrible days he had spent watching Aerys spiral deeper and deeper into madness. 

He tells her of Cersei.

If they are in company, he watches their fellow travellers just as carefully as she does, enjoying their company but never quite trusting in their good will. He listens to the stories they tell around the fire, and shares tales of his own in turn – not always true, and not always lies. 

And every night they place their bedrolls side by side and lie down together, back to back if in company, and Brienne looks up at the stars and listens to his slow, easy breathing beside her, wondering at the twists and turns of her life. 

**

When they are alone, they lie under the same blankets and they fuck, slow and lazy or fast and heated, fingers tangled together, staring into each other’s eyes and breathing in each other’s breath. 

**

5.

On the day that Brienne kills Timeon and Pyg and Shagwell, taking revenge for Jaime’s hand, he grins wildly at her, eyes bright and reckless, pushes her up against the rocks and kisses her with furious hunger. When he drops to his knees and puts his mouth on her, devouring, she clutches at his hair and cries out for all to hear. 

**

+1

But it’s on the Quiet Isle that they first make love. 

After Lady Stoneheart, after the shock and horror of discovering what lay beneath the hollow hill, they make their way to the remote monastery for healing. 

There, to gain access to Brienne’s bedside, Jaime lies and claims they are wed in the sight of gods and men. 

“Your vows,” Brienne breathes, lifting her hand to his cheek. “The white cloak. Your sister.”

“I’ve made so many vows I can’t possibly keep them all,” he says, taking her hand in his. “But this one, at least, I will hold to.”

The Elder Brother does not argue. 

Long, painful days pass as her body knits itself together. Jaime is there by her side, making drawling, one-sided conversation, supporting her as she hobbles around her room, eating his meals with her and bringing with him sunshine and the scent of the world outside. 

When the healers declare her fully recovered, the Elder Brother asks them – with a significant look at Jaime – if they wish to formalise their marriage. 

It’s only now that Brienne realises she wishes for nothing more. 

“Yes,” Jaime says. And, “Yes,” says Brienne. 

The Elder Brother marries them that very afternoon. 

**

That night they lie together in their marriage bed, and they come together more sweetly than ever before. The act is still the same, a slow and gentle rhythm, and the tastes and smells and sensations are no different than any of the many times before. 

But this time they are man and wife, and the act is filled with love. 

It makes all the difference in the world.


End file.
